Two sides of a coin, spinning in the air.
Both glinting madly. Not caring for their followers. Not caring for their choices.
One side means darkness, and one means light.
The odd thing about this coin, the Force, is that once you pick one side, you may not see the other one again. You can scale the coin's edges, and never again lay eyes upon the patterns of the light, or the depth of the darkness.
That's what they say, anyway.
But there are two, recently constrained by new patterns in the light, by new depth to the darkness, who dream, even wish, that they can change the patterns, move aside the veils of night.
The one trapped in the light was a small and weathered green alien, aged and shrivelled. Crushed by the weight of the walls around him, squeezing him along his path, pattern shifting behind him...
The one trapped in the dark was a looming figure, a whirring and wheezing monster of metal and figure. Teetering under the weight of his tragedy, pushing him forward inexorably, hounding his footsteps...
Yoda, Grand Master of the Jedi Order. Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith.
The coin sparkles, and bounces off a rock on Dagobah, off a Imperial console...
Two hearts race as the coin rolls to a stop.
The same side, as all ways...
But the Force still does not care.